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:D It's my magicofisis!day, again!!! My favourite kind of day. Sorry this fic is... totally without plot, and not in the good way. But it's filled with a whole mess of Harrys, so maybe that helps? *hides behind canon*
Title: Wearing Harry Potter
Author: goneoffthelump
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13 (or maybe R, for overuse of the word 'cock')
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: Ron thought he knew what it felt like to Polyjuice into someone else, but Vincent Crabbe had nothing on this.
A/N: Is Seven Potters!Harry/Ron cliché yet? If so, oops. If not... *helps to make it so*. Also, by way of disclaimer, I lifted rather a lot directly from the chapter in question. So, you know. *doubly disclaims*. Many thanks to the lovelies who knocked some sense into this fic, especially reallycorking and illuminations, who spent more time beta'ing this than I did writing it. The title is illuminations's fault. ♥!!!!
Wearing Harry Potter
The change came more quickly and more efficiently than he had remembered from last time, but it felt no less bizarre. Every part of him felt like it was being melted down and reforged into something else - someone else - and the accompanying adrenaline rush left him dizzy and panting.
He stood still for a moment, eyes firmly closed, listening to five other people gasp for breath around him, and sent mental feelers out to his fingers and toes, making sure all were present and correct.
They were, as was everything else it seemed, but he felt very strange in a way he hadn't been expecting, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It all felt very different from the way it had the last time.
It had been a long time, of course, since he'd last Polyjuiced, but his memory of it was still quite vivid. It had been fundamentally weird, being in someone else's body for an hour, sort of how he imagined an out-of-body experience might feel. Except that he'd had a body, and it had worked as though it were his own, in full cooperation with his brain; but he'd been acutely aware, the entire time, of all the ways in which it hadn't been his body, of how he hadn't actually belonged inside it.
This, though. This was different. He was still in someone else's body, still very much aware of how it wasn't his own, but this time it was even more strange because he felt... oddly at home in it.
It was Harry's. And, apparently, that made a difference.
Ron swallowed and felt Harry's heart pounding inside his chest. He rubbed Harry's fingers against his palms and pressed his tongue to the roof of Harry's mouth, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other and felt Harry's legs support him as his jeans rubbed against Harry's skin.
He tested out the rest of his limbs, rolling Harry's shoulders and craning his neck, and nearly lost his breath when the movement sent something very warm and very familiar wafting up from under his t-shirt.
He smelt like Harry. He hadn't expected that, either - Vincent Crabbe's smell played no role in Ron's memory of that entire sordid incident. But Harry's scent was there, plain as day and unmistakable, the same one that greeted him whenever he sprawled out on Harry's bed when they avoided homework together. The same one that had tickled at his nose all morning that day when he'd accidentally worn Harry's robes to class, not noticing how short they were until lunchtime, when Harry had tripped over the hem of the too-long set he'd been wearing.
Ron breathed himself in, heart hammering, and his eyes flew open as his cock twitched in his pants.
And oh sweet Merlin, Harry's cock was inside Ron's pants. Right now. Just. There. Fuck.
How the hell had he not thought about this beforehand? How could he possibly have agreed to this plan? He was bloody well wearing Harry's cock.
He really needed to stop thinking about that immediately, because for some ungodly reason Harry's cock seemed to know that Ron was thinking about it. And it seemed to like knowing that Ron was thinking about it.
Ron drew a desperate, quick breath, and looked around the room in an effort to distract himself.
He blinked. And blinked again. Squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, and then opened them. But it was no use - his eyes were fucking broken.
He felt himself start to panic, wondering how the hell he was going to manage without his eyes, of all things, on top of already having to manage Harry's wayward cock, when a very blurry Harry suddenly appeared in front of him, shoving a change of clothes and a pair of glasses into his hands.
Ron stared down at the glasses for a moment, feeling thoroughly idiotic, and sighed with relief when he put them on. He very nearly ripped them right off again, though, because the sight that greeted him might actually have been more overwhelming than discovering he was blind.
He was surrounded by Harrys. There were Harrys everywhere. Just. Everywhere. With their wild black hair and startling green eyes and cheeks flushed from the rush of their transformation.
The Harry standing right next to him, the one who'd just handed him his clothes, he realised, was peeling Hermione's t-shirt up and over his head, and Ron's mouth went dry as his stomach flipped and Harry's cock twitched again. Ron's cheeks burned as he averted his eyes.
Didn't do him much good though, as the only thing his eyes seemed to be able to find were Harrys in various states of undress, pulling off shirts and trousers and anything else with no regard for how much of Harry's bare skin they might be parading around Harry's aunt's kitchen.
The only exception was the still-fully-dressed and mildly horrified-looking Harry standing in the corner, blushing furiously as his eyes flitted about the room.
The real Harry's hyperactive gaze met Ron's for a thoroughly strange moment, and another burst of adrenaline shot through Ron's veins, forcing his eyes to the floor, which seemed like the only safe spot for them.
With a steadying breath (and then another), he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt and then yanked it up over his head, hoping to be out of his now too-large clothes and into Harry's as quickly as possible.
He tried to keep his eyes trained on the floor, but the expanse of Harry's skin just below his chin flashed into the lower edge of his field of vision, and he found his gaze drawn helplessly to it instead - Harry's completely bare, unmarked chest. And before he had time to think better of it, he heard himself blurt, "I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo."
He couldn't help the embarrassed glance he threw at Harry in the next moment, and Harry was looking back at him with equal embarrassment and disbelief. Harry's eyes darted down to Ron's bare chest, too, and Ron's cock - Harry's cock, rather - twitched and Ron's - Harry's - cheeks burned.
Ron forced his eyes back to the floor and kept them there as he concentrated on getting dressed and collecting the various Harry accessories he needed: a rucksack, an owl cage, a fake owl.
Moody began barking instructions at the group, and Ron tried to listen, but mostly he was focussed on trying to control his breathing and keeping Harry's cock in check.
Harry's cock, though, seemed to have no interest in being kept in check, and the more Ron willed it to stop, the more it continued to demand his attention. He tried thinking of anything that might shut it up - Umbridge or Grawp or Malfoy - but he found it damn near impossible to stop thinking about the fact that he was wearing Harry's cock and it was reacting, and the more he thought about it being Harry's, the more obnoxious it became, and it was a a horrible, vicious cycle that was weird and confusing and probably paradoxical in some sort of space-time-continuum-destroying way. But most of all it was just really bloody inconvenient, given that Ron was minutes away from climbing onto the back of Tonks's broomstick.
Ron watched Lupin help Tonks collect the mugs she'd just knocked off Harry's aunt's mug tree, and hoped that his former professor's inner wolf wouldn't make an appearance once Ron snuggled up behind his wife with a fucking tent in his jeans.
Ron tried his best not to panic as he walked out into the back garden, tried thinking of spiders and horrible green bogies and You-Know-Who, for fuck's sake. He did his best not to notice whether or not it was working, because turning his thoughts back to Harry's cock was out of the question.
He was still surrounded in Harrys, but Ron did not look at any of them as he stepped over his broom, resolutely keeping his mind away from anything at all to do with Harry; but when he heard the real Harry ask about Sirius's motorbike, with that odd combination of awe and sadness in his voice that only Harry ever seemed capable of managing, Ron had to look.
And sure enough, Harry had that far-away look in his eyes as he took in the sight of his godfather's bike. It was Ron's own heart, not Harry's, that ached in that moment, and it was a relief when Harry caught sight of the tiny sidecar he was to ride in and his gaze turned decidedly displeased.
The arrangement was rather ludicrous, and Ron watched Harry sigh and climb in, stuffing himself down inside it. Only inches above the ground, Harry's bony knees stuck out at odd angles around Hedwig's cage, and Ron couldn't help but smirk.
Harry pulled a face at him in return before looking uncomfortable again, and ran his gaze down Ron's body in a thoroughly strange sort of way, and Ron's - Harry's, fuck - cock jumped before Ron had time to reason with it.
And now he really needed to get off this damn broomstick, because there was no way in hell this was going to go unnoticed.
"All right, then," said Moody, and Ron could barely hear him over the panicked ringing in his ears. "Everyone ready, please."
"Hold tight now, Ron," Tonks said to him, over her shoulder, as Ron maintained an unnaturally large space between them.
Ron stared at her back and wanted to throw up as he sat, frozen, considering his options. He had none, of course, so he bit his lip and threw a quick, horrible glance over at Lupin, and reluctantly placed his hands at Tonks's waist without moving his hips any closer to her. He could feel twelve pairs of eyes fixed on him, and he prayed that all they could see were his hands.
Mercifully, a moment later, Hagrid kick-started the motorbike, and it roared, drawing everyone's attention.
"Got to get a bit closer than that, Ron," Tonks called over the roar. "Won't be able to balance with you that far back."
Ron swallowed and scooted forwards, hoping that at least some of the blood rushing to his cheeks was draining out of his cock.
"Is that Harry's wand in your pocket, Ron, or are you just happy to see me?" Tonks said, barely audible over the roar, and smirking at him over her shoulder.
Ron had absolutely nothing to say for himself, other than the miserable "Sorry" he managed to force out, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd knocked him off her broom immediately.
But Tonks just chuckled, and then Moody was calling out the count of one, two, three. And with the motorbike's roar, they all took off as Ron closed his eyes against what was surely going to be the longest hour of his life.
Title: Wearing Harry Potter
Author: goneoffthelump
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: PG-13 (or maybe R, for overuse of the word 'cock')
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: Ron thought he knew what it felt like to Polyjuice into someone else, but Vincent Crabbe had nothing on this.
A/N: Is Seven Potters!Harry/Ron cliché yet? If so, oops. If not... *helps to make it so*. Also, by way of disclaimer, I lifted rather a lot directly from the chapter in question. So, you know. *doubly disclaims*. Many thanks to the lovelies who knocked some sense into this fic, especially reallycorking and illuminations, who spent more time beta'ing this than I did writing it. The title is illuminations's fault. ♥!!!!
Wearing Harry Potter
The change came more quickly and more efficiently than he had remembered from last time, but it felt no less bizarre. Every part of him felt like it was being melted down and reforged into something else - someone else - and the accompanying adrenaline rush left him dizzy and panting.
He stood still for a moment, eyes firmly closed, listening to five other people gasp for breath around him, and sent mental feelers out to his fingers and toes, making sure all were present and correct.
They were, as was everything else it seemed, but he felt very strange in a way he hadn't been expecting, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It all felt very different from the way it had the last time.
It had been a long time, of course, since he'd last Polyjuiced, but his memory of it was still quite vivid. It had been fundamentally weird, being in someone else's body for an hour, sort of how he imagined an out-of-body experience might feel. Except that he'd had a body, and it had worked as though it were his own, in full cooperation with his brain; but he'd been acutely aware, the entire time, of all the ways in which it hadn't been his body, of how he hadn't actually belonged inside it.
This, though. This was different. He was still in someone else's body, still very much aware of how it wasn't his own, but this time it was even more strange because he felt... oddly at home in it.
It was Harry's. And, apparently, that made a difference.
Ron swallowed and felt Harry's heart pounding inside his chest. He rubbed Harry's fingers against his palms and pressed his tongue to the roof of Harry's mouth, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other and felt Harry's legs support him as his jeans rubbed against Harry's skin.
He tested out the rest of his limbs, rolling Harry's shoulders and craning his neck, and nearly lost his breath when the movement sent something very warm and very familiar wafting up from under his t-shirt.
He smelt like Harry. He hadn't expected that, either - Vincent Crabbe's smell played no role in Ron's memory of that entire sordid incident. But Harry's scent was there, plain as day and unmistakable, the same one that greeted him whenever he sprawled out on Harry's bed when they avoided homework together. The same one that had tickled at his nose all morning that day when he'd accidentally worn Harry's robes to class, not noticing how short they were until lunchtime, when Harry had tripped over the hem of the too-long set he'd been wearing.
Ron breathed himself in, heart hammering, and his eyes flew open as his cock twitched in his pants.
And oh sweet Merlin, Harry's cock was inside Ron's pants. Right now. Just. There. Fuck.
How the hell had he not thought about this beforehand? How could he possibly have agreed to this plan? He was bloody well wearing Harry's cock.
He really needed to stop thinking about that immediately, because for some ungodly reason Harry's cock seemed to know that Ron was thinking about it. And it seemed to like knowing that Ron was thinking about it.
Ron drew a desperate, quick breath, and looked around the room in an effort to distract himself.
He blinked. And blinked again. Squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, and then opened them. But it was no use - his eyes were fucking broken.
He felt himself start to panic, wondering how the hell he was going to manage without his eyes, of all things, on top of already having to manage Harry's wayward cock, when a very blurry Harry suddenly appeared in front of him, shoving a change of clothes and a pair of glasses into his hands.
Ron stared down at the glasses for a moment, feeling thoroughly idiotic, and sighed with relief when he put them on. He very nearly ripped them right off again, though, because the sight that greeted him might actually have been more overwhelming than discovering he was blind.
He was surrounded by Harrys. There were Harrys everywhere. Just. Everywhere. With their wild black hair and startling green eyes and cheeks flushed from the rush of their transformation.
The Harry standing right next to him, the one who'd just handed him his clothes, he realised, was peeling Hermione's t-shirt up and over his head, and Ron's mouth went dry as his stomach flipped and Harry's cock twitched again. Ron's cheeks burned as he averted his eyes.
Didn't do him much good though, as the only thing his eyes seemed to be able to find were Harrys in various states of undress, pulling off shirts and trousers and anything else with no regard for how much of Harry's bare skin they might be parading around Harry's aunt's kitchen.
The only exception was the still-fully-dressed and mildly horrified-looking Harry standing in the corner, blushing furiously as his eyes flitted about the room.
The real Harry's hyperactive gaze met Ron's for a thoroughly strange moment, and another burst of adrenaline shot through Ron's veins, forcing his eyes to the floor, which seemed like the only safe spot for them.
With a steadying breath (and then another), he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt and then yanked it up over his head, hoping to be out of his now too-large clothes and into Harry's as quickly as possible.
He tried to keep his eyes trained on the floor, but the expanse of Harry's skin just below his chin flashed into the lower edge of his field of vision, and he found his gaze drawn helplessly to it instead - Harry's completely bare, unmarked chest. And before he had time to think better of it, he heard himself blurt, "I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo."
He couldn't help the embarrassed glance he threw at Harry in the next moment, and Harry was looking back at him with equal embarrassment and disbelief. Harry's eyes darted down to Ron's bare chest, too, and Ron's cock - Harry's cock, rather - twitched and Ron's - Harry's - cheeks burned.
Ron forced his eyes back to the floor and kept them there as he concentrated on getting dressed and collecting the various Harry accessories he needed: a rucksack, an owl cage, a fake owl.
Moody began barking instructions at the group, and Ron tried to listen, but mostly he was focussed on trying to control his breathing and keeping Harry's cock in check.
Harry's cock, though, seemed to have no interest in being kept in check, and the more Ron willed it to stop, the more it continued to demand his attention. He tried thinking of anything that might shut it up - Umbridge or Grawp or Malfoy - but he found it damn near impossible to stop thinking about the fact that he was wearing Harry's cock and it was reacting, and the more he thought about it being Harry's, the more obnoxious it became, and it was a a horrible, vicious cycle that was weird and confusing and probably paradoxical in some sort of space-time-continuum-destroying way. But most of all it was just really bloody inconvenient, given that Ron was minutes away from climbing onto the back of Tonks's broomstick.
Ron watched Lupin help Tonks collect the mugs she'd just knocked off Harry's aunt's mug tree, and hoped that his former professor's inner wolf wouldn't make an appearance once Ron snuggled up behind his wife with a fucking tent in his jeans.
Ron tried his best not to panic as he walked out into the back garden, tried thinking of spiders and horrible green bogies and You-Know-Who, for fuck's sake. He did his best not to notice whether or not it was working, because turning his thoughts back to Harry's cock was out of the question.
He was still surrounded in Harrys, but Ron did not look at any of them as he stepped over his broom, resolutely keeping his mind away from anything at all to do with Harry; but when he heard the real Harry ask about Sirius's motorbike, with that odd combination of awe and sadness in his voice that only Harry ever seemed capable of managing, Ron had to look.
And sure enough, Harry had that far-away look in his eyes as he took in the sight of his godfather's bike. It was Ron's own heart, not Harry's, that ached in that moment, and it was a relief when Harry caught sight of the tiny sidecar he was to ride in and his gaze turned decidedly displeased.
The arrangement was rather ludicrous, and Ron watched Harry sigh and climb in, stuffing himself down inside it. Only inches above the ground, Harry's bony knees stuck out at odd angles around Hedwig's cage, and Ron couldn't help but smirk.
Harry pulled a face at him in return before looking uncomfortable again, and ran his gaze down Ron's body in a thoroughly strange sort of way, and Ron's - Harry's, fuck - cock jumped before Ron had time to reason with it.
And now he really needed to get off this damn broomstick, because there was no way in hell this was going to go unnoticed.
"All right, then," said Moody, and Ron could barely hear him over the panicked ringing in his ears. "Everyone ready, please."
"Hold tight now, Ron," Tonks said to him, over her shoulder, as Ron maintained an unnaturally large space between them.
Ron stared at her back and wanted to throw up as he sat, frozen, considering his options. He had none, of course, so he bit his lip and threw a quick, horrible glance over at Lupin, and reluctantly placed his hands at Tonks's waist without moving his hips any closer to her. He could feel twelve pairs of eyes fixed on him, and he prayed that all they could see were his hands.
Mercifully, a moment later, Hagrid kick-started the motorbike, and it roared, drawing everyone's attention.
"Got to get a bit closer than that, Ron," Tonks called over the roar. "Won't be able to balance with you that far back."
Ron swallowed and scooted forwards, hoping that at least some of the blood rushing to his cheeks was draining out of his cock.
"Is that Harry's wand in your pocket, Ron, or are you just happy to see me?" Tonks said, barely audible over the roar, and smirking at him over her shoulder.
Ron had absolutely nothing to say for himself, other than the miserable "Sorry" he managed to force out, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd knocked him off her broom immediately.
But Tonks just chuckled, and then Moody was calling out the count of one, two, three. And with the motorbike's roar, they all took off as Ron closed his eyes against what was surely going to be the longest hour of his life.